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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169894">Tommy's Party</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/petersfeather/pseuds/petersfeather'>petersfeather</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood, But Make it Hurt, F/M, Fist Fights, Friends to Enemies, Friendship, Harringrove, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Violence, Swearing, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust, but make it 2 kind of selfish and dickish boys, he's not dead i just like to remember him ♥, i just realized i legit mention blood in this and didn't tag it wtf i'm so sorry, it's mostly bloody noses, look i'm here for the DRAMA alright??, sorry about that btw i just started it that way and then ran away with it, stommy, this is for Chester Rushing please let's take a minute to remember him, use of 1st and 2nd person</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:54:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/petersfeather/pseuds/petersfeather</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You can imagine Steve getting tipsy and watching girls get tipsy and them both getting handsy to the point that they’re clumsily groping on Tommy’s couch. Where Tommy sits to eat his cereal and watch cartoons in the morning. Where Tommy used to eat cereal and watch cartoons with <i>Steve</i> when the two would have sleepovers back in the third grade.</p><p>But don’t think about Tommy thinking about that.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Based on Tommy's Party - Peach Pit (bc <i>someone</i> had to)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins, unrequited Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tommy's Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hey there what's up</p><p>so <a href="https://okaybutlikeimagine.tumblr.com/post/615267851090247680/hi-there-please-listen-to-the-song-tommys-party">this was a tumblr post i made</a> that i'm posting on here bc i'm proud of it. i tried to change all the shorthand and capitalize everything but i may have missed some stuff, so sorry for that in advance. the style is kind of odd and a lil experimental. it may not be your cup of tea bc of that, so just a fair warning. i had fun and i'm proud of the outcome ♥</p><p>this is 1000% Chester Rushing's fault. that boy made 1 (one) video about how Tommy <i>totally</i> had a crush on Steve and it ruined my whole fucking life.</p><p>i highly recommend you listen to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMUbmiXlHww">Tommy's Party - Peach Pit</a> (probably even BEFORE you read this) bc this is fully based on that song and honestly, i could direct a full fucking unrequited Stommy music video to that song.</p><p>enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Imagine Tommy H. as a little baby toddler, first or second day of kindergarten, trying to find a friend and seeing a little baby toddler Steve Harrington. Imagine it’s snack time and he needs someone to sit next to and there’s Steve, the kid only the other rich kids know because Steve was rich enough to go to preschool. Tommy didn’t get that luxury. But Tommy likes Steve’s hair and his little sweater because it looks soft. And so imagine a wobbly, nervous Tommy walking right up to Steve, aware of the warning his mom has given him loads of times now about being “gentle” because he’s an “active kid” who gets a little too “overexcited” and “likes to hit”. Imagine him sticking a single little finger out, overextending it like that’ll make him more careful, and tapping Steve on the shoulder a few times. Very clear and direct. Imagine Steve turning around, hearing that request of “Wanna sit with me for snack time?” and knowing full well he already has a group of friends to go to, but seeing this new boy and liking his freckles. Because imagine a baby Steve being told by his mom that freckles are kisses from angels so this kid must be <i>extra</i> special to get so many extra kisses. Imagine that as the start of their friendship.</p><p>And imagine all of the other times Tommy has gotten Steve’s attention as they get older. Imagine that single finger that eventually evolved into a whole, flat hand patting Steve’s shoulder gently, to the light slap of the back of his hand to Steve’s arm, to more and more playful actions, knocking into each other gently, always garnering a smirk or a laugh from one another. A secret code for them.</p><p>But don’t imagine it getting violent. Don’t imagine it suddenly having mal-intent. Don’t imagine Steve giving Tommy any reason to be pissed off or vice versa. Don’t imagine them fistfighting in that parking lot, Tommy with tears boiling hot and searing behind his eyes because Steve’s stupidly pretty face is the last thing he’d wanna fuck up this bad but hey, if it’s gonna get fucked up it’s gonna be by <i>him</i> goddamnit because this is his <i>best fucking friend</i> and no one else gets to touch him but <i>Tommy</i>.</p><p>Don’t imagine Steve seeing that freckled, “angel kissed” face turn blurry and red.</p><p> </p><p>….</p><p> </p><p>But do imagine the boys being friends. Growing up together, like two peas in a pod. Imagine their parents meeting for the first time and not getting along too well because they’re from different backgrounds, different social classes, and they’re not mentally equipped enough to comprehend that but both sides are able to share a smile at their two boys who are running around like little menaces, laughing and shrieking and enjoying themselves. Imagine Tommy and Steve being close. Real close. Physically close. Imagine them sitting next to each other every day at lunch. Imagine Steve making Tommy laugh so hard that he shoots milk out of his nose and Steve sitting so close to him that it gets all over his clothes too. Imagine both of them not caring, not even Steve, who knows he’s gonna get hellfire when his parents see what happened to his nice shirt. Imagine them always bumping shoulders when they walk and kicking feet when they sit next to each other and holding hands when one leads the other.</p><p>Don’t imagine them getting bullied for it one day. Don’t imagine someone shouting cruel names at them for being two boys that are close.</p><p>And don’t imagine them internalizing it either. Don’t imagine them drifting further and further away. Don’t imagine them evolving from sitting close to standing on the opposite ends of their friend group to nodding at each other on the other side of a party.</p><p> </p><p>You can imagine Steve being invited to one of Tommy’s parties. Like he always is. Imagine Steve always being the first one on the metaphorical “list” of invitees.</p><p>You can even imagine Steve enjoying himself. Steve being a little social butterfly at fucking 15. Already knowing how to hold his alcohol fairly well because he’s been sneaking his dad’s alcohol and his mom’s wine for at least a year now. Maybe a little over. You can imagine Steve getting tipsy and watching girls get tipsy and them both getting handsy to the point that they’re clumsily groping on Tommy’s couch. Where Tommy sits to eat his cereal and watch cartoons in the morning. Where Tommy used to eat cereal and watch cartoons with <i>Steve</i> when the two would have sleepovers back in the third grade.</p><p>But don’t think about Tommy thinking about that.</p><p>No no, don’t imagine Tommy getting sad over it. Real fucking sad. Don’t imagine Tommy in love with Steve to the point that it <i>hurts</i> to see him with someone else. Don’t imagine Tommy suddenly wishing he hadn’t invited anyone because he wants to be the only one at the other end of Steve’s fucking tunnel vision. Don’t imagine Tommy channeling his sadness into anger because that’s all he knows how to do. Fucking crushing the can in his hand because he’s fed up and doesn’t know how to express this oppressive sorrow in his gut.</p><p>Okay, maybe you can imagine Tommy going up to Steve the next day, asking about the party. How he thought it went, how he liked it, if he saw Cam getting plastered from all those drinks he was feeding her. Maybe you can imagine Tommy giggling that goofy little giggle he gives, all teeth and crinkled eyes and smushed up freckles.</p><p>But don’t think about Steve responding hazily. don’t think about Tommy’s face falling into something disappointed. Something sad that switches to borderline angry. Something that’s suddenly <i>mad</i>. Don’t think about Tommy’s face hardening over, about his angry little fists being shoved forcefully into his pockets as he concedes that Steve probably didn’t see because he was with that <i>girl</i>. Whatever her name was. Tommy never caught it. Probably didn’t even invite her. Definitely won’t from now on. Don’t imagine Tommy talking about her to a laughing and smirking Steve who doesn’t get the hint. Who <i>never</i> gets the hint. Don’t imagine Tommy thinking about it way too hard. Thinking about that girl and how she seemed like she was having fun keeping up with Steve… drink for drink… just like Tommy used to do with him. Just like they used to fucking do.</p><p>Don’t think about Steve never getting the hint.</p><p>I guess you can think about another party, not Tommy’s this time. Another party where Steve is wandering around and touching shoulders and the smalls of backs and haphazardly grabbing gently at hips because he’s drunk and he’s popular and people let him. I guess we can all imagine Tommy watching semi-fondly because while he hates that he never gets those, he loves Steve’s confidence. His cocky fucking confidence. He loves to see that smirk grace his lips. Loves to watch him swagger around like the world is his to play with.</p><p>Maybe imagine Tommy getting excited because Steve is coming his way. Aiming right for him, looking at him with those lazily confident eyes that hold the fucking <i>sun</i> in them they’re so on fire. Maybe you can imagine Tommy’s heart beating wildly, Tommy’s fingers fidgeting slightly, Tommy downing his drink, Tommy high out of his mind.</p><p>Don’t imagine Steve coming over just for a girl. Some other fucking girl. Tommy doesn’t know her either- maybe he does, maybe his rage is preventing any recognition from occurring, but he doesn’t <i>think</i> he knows her. Thinks he’d remember someone like that.</p><p>Thinks he’d remember Steve- <i>his Steve</i> -looking at someone like that.</p><p>And then they’re <i>laughing</i>. Don’t think about it but Steve and her are <i>laughing</i>, brightly and loudly and no one else seems to be paying any mind… and definitely don’t think about it but <i>Tommy</i> minds… Tommy definitely minds. Don’t think about Tommy watching that with his heart sinking in his chest - deep in his chest. Because Tommy sees that and wants to run away. Don’t think about Tommy hearing that and clenching his fists, reaching for another can, almost crushing it in his grasp, taking a long swig with vengeance, fucking <i>angry</i>. He can’t get away from it… don’t think about Tommy sitting there, listening to Steve’s laugh, hearing every bit and piece of it and not seeing him with that girl but rather seeing them as <i>kids</i>. Tommy is hearing Steve’s laugh, that same fucking laugh he’s had for years, and seeing himself sitting next to him, Steve’s arm wrapped around his shoulder and Tommy’s own wrapped around his middle, laughing themselves breathless as Brandon made a fool of himself at that one sleepover. Laughing themselves breathless as they watched their favorite movie together. Laughing themselves absolutely nutty reading that stupid comic Tommy was finally able to buy for himself with his own allowance. Laughing themselves <i>free</i>. Don’t think about Tommy watching Steve get a little too handsy and getting <i>antsy</i> over it because… because <i>fuck</i> that should be <i>him</i>.</p><p>Please, please don’t think about the bile that fills up Tommy’s system when he realizes what he was just thinking.</p><p>And don’t think about him leaving either. Don’t think about Tommy walking by, making eye contact with Steve, slowing down, waiting only to get the most slurred “hello” out of Steve before the boy is giggling again with that girl, hands once again digging into her side and causing her to laugh into his neck and Tommy’s <i>gone</i>, his high feeling sour now. Tommy’s heading home.</p><p>Maybe you can think about Tommy asking Steve if he wants to hang out the next day after school. In fact, please think about them hanging out in an open field, drinking beers, letting the sun be soft on their skin. Please think about Tommy finding comfort in it, and Steve showing he feels comfort in it too. Think about them being happy with each other. Maybe you can even think about Tommy asking Steve how he felt last night. But don’t think about the poison filling his chest when Tommy apologizes for leaving so early… citing he was just too high. Don’t think about Steve saying he didn’t even notice. Don’t think about Tommy crinkling and crushing the can in his hand again, seeing that girl again in his mind, but trying to keep the small talk up. Maybe you can think about Tommy talking about how Leslie saw Nat on his way home, puking on the side of the road. Maybe you can think about him chuckling a little at that. But don’t imagine the tension in the air between them now. The awkward, strained silence. Steve telling Tommy he has somewhere to be so he needs to leave. Don’t imagine the hurt it puts in Tommy’s heart.</p><p>And at this point, maybe we shouldn’t imagine another party. In fact, please don’t. Please don’t imagine another one of Tommy’s parties, where Tommy talks with Steve a bit, even though he vowed he wouldn’t because god fucking damnit Tommy can’t <i>help</i> it. He’s his friend and something about Steve will always grant Tommy comfort in the form of flutters. Be it kind or bitter, it flutters just the same.</p><p>Maybe you can think about Tommy there with Carol, because she’s his now. Think about Tommy being actually genuinely happy to have Carol, because Carol makes him laugh and kisses his forehead sometimes and lets him do the same to her sometimes without getting too irritated... and has sex with him. Think about Tommy finding a gratefulness in Carol, enjoying playing with her soft hair. Don’t think about him wishing the color of her hair was a little different… a little shorter…</p><p>Maybe you can think about Tommy with Carol, swaying a bit to the beat as they dance, Carol whispering something softly and huskily to Tommy but Tommy looking away at something else. Maybe you can imagine Carol taking his chin in her soft hand and turning his face towards hers. But… no, don’t imagine him still not paying attention, still flicking his eyes over to the right. Don’t imagine Carol noticing and looking that way too.</p><p>Getting a little shocked at seeing it’s Steve her boyfriend is looking at.</p><p>And maybe it’s supposed to be a kind gesture, maybe she’s doing it because she’s nothing if not a “generous girlfriend” (her words), but don’t think about Carol leaving Tommy to go over to Steve and whisper something in his ear. Don’t think about Steve leaning down to hear and looking up to lock confused eyes with Tommy. Don’t think about the second of <i>lust</i> Tommy sees there that sets a hopeful fire in Tommy’s chest and makes him down his drink, fingers fidgeting.</p><p>And I just… be careful about it, but maybe think about a few minutes later, when Carol is bouncing her way over to Tommy’s bedroom with Tommy and Steve in tow. Be so careful about thinking about Steve’s hands, reaching out and fumbling but still groping with <i>impressive</i> skill at Tommy’s ass and hip bone and little tummy and then <i>downwards</i>. You can think about the falsely coy look Carol gives as she opens the door and flounces inside, taking her shirt off. But that doesn’t matter because… be careful thinking about it, but Steve is pulling Tommy in tight with his right arm wrapped around Tommy’s body, gripping and fondling his hipbone, making Tommy gasp as his fingers slide under the waist of his jeans and underwear to touch his skin. Please be very careful thinking about Steve guiding Tommy through the doorway like it’s not Tommy’s own room- a place he obviously knows intimately. A place he knows Steve has become very unfamiliar with. And just… just don’t think about Steve putting his lips up close to Tommy’s ear, breathing unevenly, less than gracefully, moving his mouth down Tommy’s jawline as he closes the door behind him and whispers into Tommy’s skin something that really sounds like: <i>“I’ve never done… much like this… before….”</i></p><p>and… and…. <i>and</i>….</p><p>Please be careful about it… but maybe think about Tommy waking up in the morning, body spent and throbbing and aching and mind racing because everything from the night before is so <i>blurry</i>. Maybe just don’t think about it. Don’t think about Tommy seeing and feeling it come back to him in waves- waves of pleasure and satisfaction and ribbons of guilt mixed in because… because… because <i>Steve wouldn’t kiss him</i>. As they moved around Tommy’s bed, Carol writhing and mewling between them, Carol on her front, unable to see them, Carol distracted by pleasure, and Tommy… Tommy tried to give a kiss, two, three… Tommy tried to <i>steal</i> them from Steve. Tommy felt desperate for them, but please don’t think about him remembering that. don’t imagine Tommy, laying in bed, Carol curled up next to him, just… just picturing himself from the night before yearning and craving and practically <i>begging</i> in every wordless way for Steve to give him something he refused to let him have. For Steve to <i>fucking kiss him</i>. For Steve to touch him with more than just careful groping hands. Please… <i>please</i> don’t think about the shame that fills Tommy’s chest at it… the pressing, smothering, choking <i>shame</i> that makes Tommy sob dryly for a second and causes Carol to stir.</p><p>And it’s just…. it’s not safe anymore. So please don’t imagine it. Don’t imagine Tommy sliding out of bed to grab Carol a glass of water and maybe some breakfast because he’s actually a fucking gentleman and doesn’t fucking run out after sex, and as he places his feet down, he lands on shoes and sees… sees a pair of shoes he’s never seen next to his in this context before. Sees Steve’s shoes next to his on the ground, next to his bed. Don’t don’t don’t think about the pang of hurt that shoots through Tommy at seeing them. At the fleeting chance of it all just being some vividly painful wet dream that’s now vanished because Steve’s shoes just made it all real.</p><p>Don’t imagine Tommy padding his way out to his living room, seeing the mess left behind from the party and hearing someone else padding around as well, shuffling through things, mumbling darkly. Don’t imagine the way Tommy’s chest fucking <i>constricts</i> at the sight of Steve, clearly hurrying himself around Tommy’s living room, looking for something desperately. Don’t think about the bile returning to Tommy’s chest… the poisonous bile that consumes him.</p><p>And it hurts… it’s probably gonna hurt, but maybe you can think about Tommy getting <i>spiteful</i>. Getting <i>angry</i>. Leaning against a wall, watching Steve near panic, and asking: “Hey bud, how’d it go last night?”</p><p>Maybe you can think about the sick sort of pleasure he gets when Steve jumps out of his skin. When Steve’s saucer-like eyes turn to Tommy and blink hurriedly. Why don’t you take a page out of Tommy’s book and try not to think too hard about the way that Steve stutters a lame response of “Uhm… it was- uh…”</p><p>Be very careful, but maybe think about the conversation going something like this:</p><p>Tommy: “You looking for something?”</p><p>Steve: “Uh… just my shoes.”</p><p>Tommy: “Mmhm. They’re in my bedroom, next to mine.”</p><p>Steve: “Oh.” (Be careful thinking about the nervous chuckle he gives)</p><p>Tommy: “Uh huh. Kinda weird waking up to see them sitting there. Never seen that before.”</p><p>Steve: “Yeah, pretty wild.” (Be very careful imagining the glint in Steve’s eye as he gets a bit more confident with the situation. Be even more careful thinking about the way it hurts Tommy’s heart and the tense silence that follows the statement.)</p><p>Tommy: “Yeah… wild.”</p><p>Steve: “Think this is what everyone means when they talk about growing up?” (Careful… don’t imagine Steve sauntering up to Tommy, hints of that heated look that flash away as quickly as they came.)</p><p>Tommy: “Doubt it. Y’know… what I was thinking about the other day?” (Don’t think about Tommy’s heart racing so fast it feels like it’s going to fail) “I was thinking about how we used to go out and blaze… late as fuck at night. Remember that?”</p><p>Steve: “Yeah!” (Don’t do it. Don’t imagine Steve’s bright laugh, his eyes crinkling, his large and warm hand patting Tommy’s shoulder and making Tommy want to <i>crumble</i>) “Not like that anymore, huh?”</p><p>Please don’t imagine it. Tommy standing there, <i>shaking</i>, joints weak and brittle as Steve pushes past him to grab his shoes. Don’t imagine Tommy standing there still, still as a statue yet <i>shaking</i>, unable to move as Steve sneaks into Tommy’s room, grabs his shoes, and sneaks back out, pushes past Tommy with a “See ya later, bud. It was fun. Tell Carol thanks.”</p><p>Don’t. Don’t imagine Tommy standing there, not breathing, eyes going blurry from staring unseeingly at the ground as he hears his front door open and then latch again. Don’t think about him <i>shaking</i> with the memory of Steve’s hand in the waistband of his underwear… the memory of <i>want</i> flooding through him.</p><p>And please please please don’t imagine the jealousy in Tommy’s eyes… in his heart and chest and fucking fingers and toes but more importantly his eyes as he watches… watches Steve go fucking <i>soft</i> for <i>Nancy fucking Wheeler</i>.</p><p>Don’t. Don’t imagine Tommy with fire in his heart and rage in his head as Nancy pushes Steve away coyly in a way that only makes Steve draw her in even <i>more</i>. Don’t imagine Tommy watching his friend <i>drift away from him</i> even more. Don’t imagine Tommy as he sees every sliver of his friend fade away with this prissy fucking girl that he <i>hates</i> with his <i>soul</i> because she’s <i>taking him</i>. she’s <i>stealing him</i> right from underneath him and…. and… and <i>forcing</i> Tommy to think about how Steve was <i>never his</i>. Not really. Maybe not even when they were kids and their worlds belonged to each other and no one else. Before girls and cliques and sloppy and inexperienced first kisses at parties. Before <i>everything</i> before all the distractions… even fucking <i>then</i> Steve never belonged to Tommy. Not in the way he was always hungry for. Ravenous.</p><p>Don’t imagine Tommy hearing the voice of a 10 year old Steve promising he would never put a girl before his best friend as Tommy watches Steve kiss Nancy in the parking lot, pushed up against his fancy car.</p><p>Please don’t think about the fist-fight over Steve leaving them for Nancy. Please don’t think about their falling out. Please don’t think about Tommy with rage in his heart, pushing Carol away until she forces him back to his fucking senses because “what’s <i>wrong</i> with you Tommy? You’re being a dickhead!”</p><p>You can start to think about Tommy becoming friends with Billy, but be careful about it. Because it comes with poison laced in it. Because you may get the idea to think about the fact that it wasn’t out of kindness or genuine interest but rather out of <i>spite</i>. On Tommy’s end. You may get the idea to think about how Tommy did it just out of a want to dethrone Steve. You may think about the parties after Billy arrives, that include a heavily drunken Tommy following Billy like a <i>puppy</i> because suddenly Billy’s the support Tommy never knew he needed. And it’s not sweet, it’s not kind, it’s not understanding like Steve used to be. No. No, you may want to think that but trust me, you’re going to think about how it’s harsh and cold and empty. All closed fists. It’s <i>ravenous</i> like Tommy felt ravenous, but maliciously so. Because Billy is tortured in a way that Steve isn’t. Billy comes with baggage Tommy isn’t strong enough to carry. Billy comes with pain and he dishes it like he takes it. He doesn’t hit Tommy but he isn’t kind. He doesn’t come with the same, charming, easy smiles Steve does and Tommy’s always thinking about it, late at night, when he lays in bed and <i>wants</i>… but don’t imagine that.</p><p>Be careful about imagining Tommy finding comfort in Billy anyway… because… because he feels like he’s getting back at Steve and that’s all he wants now.</p><p>And… and <i>please….</i></p><p><i>Please</i> be careful about imagining Tommy ditching 3rd period one day to go walk around the yard to get some air. Be careful thinking about him heading to the bleachers on the far side of the football field to smoke under them. Be very very careful.</p><p>Because you might get caught up thinking about what Tommy finds. Which happens to be Billy fucking Hargrove on his knees in front of Steve fucking Harrington… <i>his</i> Steve that was never really his… sucking Steve’s dick like he <i>likes</i> it and Tommy thinks he <i>does</i> and… and Steve is <i>coming apart</i>, coming <i>undone</i>, <i>sobbing</i> small cries into the chilled out air of the early spring as he… as he…</p><p><i>fuck</i>.</p><p>Don’t don’t don’t. Don’t think about Tommy watching that with a fallen heart. Or about Tommy’s heart lifting with some kind of perverse hope that maybe… maybe Steve just grew some balls and this is something they’re doing out of anger. This is the result of some weird, perverted fight. This isn’t anything with <i>feelings</i>… this isn’t anything to do with care.</p><p>And please stop. Stop before you think about Tommy seeing Steve pull Billy up with force before <i>kissing him</i>. Harshly but… but with <i>care</i> in his brows, passion in his hands as he spreads them across Billy’s back and up to cradle his neck, as Billy follows suit with his own large, calloused hands reaching up to tug at Steve’s hair. Don’t think about the <i>whine</i> Tommy hears.</p><p>And don’t think about the <i>slam</i> of Tommy’s hand on the bleacher bench next to him- out of anger out of <i>rage</i> out of utter devastation at the sight because… because… because <i>fuck. Fuck!</i> He… he doesn’t get anything he doesn’t get any kind of solace he’s lost… he’s lost it all and this is the end of it. The tail end of it. The last thread being pulled out and now he’s undone and rushing away in a storm of himself.</p><p>Don’t think about him hearing a distant: “<i>Shit! Goddamnit-</i>”</p><p>Followed by a: “<i>Billy, wait! Let me get him.</i>”</p><p>Don’t think about the sound of footsteps rushing after him, don’t think about the calling out of “Tommy!”, don’t think about Tommy’s wild heart and wild eyes and <i>tears</i>, and <i>please</i> don’t think about Tommy feeling a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>Don’t think about Steve, voice near desperate with his: “Tommy! You’re… not gonna tell anyone, are you?”</p><p>Don’t think about Tommy <i>fuming</i>, body hot with anger as he says: “Just watch me.” like he thought for a second to tell anyone. As if he would ever do that to Steve.</p><p>And don’t don’t <i>don’t</i>. Stop it now before you think about Steve grabbing Tommy’s shoulder and <i>shoving</i>, straight into the brick wall of the gym building, pinning him there cleanly, pointing an authoritative finger in his face as he <i>growls</i> at him.</p><p>“You’re not gonna tell anyone.” Steve says it like it’s a command, an order… but don’t think about that.</p><p>Don’t think about Tommy’s heart running away with <i>everything</i>. Every emotion and feeling and fear of anger and betrayal and want and desire and shame and <i>fear</i> and-</p><p>“Oh yeah? Why not?” Tommy spits the words angrily into Steve’s face, but don’t imagine it.</p><p>Don’t imagine Steve searching Tommy’s face for the answer. Don’t imagine the tension that’s there between them again. Don’t think about how it’s <i>different</i> now and Tommy can feel it and Tommy knows Steve can feel it too. Everything is different now and Tommy's mind takes him away for a bitter and painful second to think about the eyes of this stupid boy- back when they used to be admiring and kind. Don’t think about Steve’s finger lowering, his face relaxing into something less angry and something more like that pout he gives. You know the one. The one where his eyebrows furrow and his lips pout and he’s obviously thinking a little too hard about something.</p><p>Don’t think about what he says.</p><p>Because what he says is: “Because you love me too much.”</p><p>I’m begging you not to think about that. Because if you think about that, you’re going to start thinking about the way it punches Tommy in the gut… the way it hurts Tommy more than any physical pain ever could. The way it stabs him and drains him of every bit of energy. The way it <i>hurts</i>.</p><p>The way that pain shows in his eyes and on his face, and the way Steve latches onto that like a fucking <i>predator</i>. Be so careful or else you’re going to think about Steve chuckling darkly, like the cat that caught the canary. The look he gives that’s nothing short of <i>wicked</i>. Truly wicked. Mirroring something Tommy’s only seen in Billy. Don’t think about how much that in particular hurts Tommy even more.</p><p>“Holy shit… I’m right, aren’t I?” Steve says like it’s something <i>disgusting</i> but please don’t think about that.</p><p>Don’t think about Tommy chewing his lip in a nervous habit because he just can’t help it. his eyes shifting back to the bleachers where Billy is standing, arm leaning up against them, hip jutting out, standing like he owns the world. Don’t think about Steve’s hand gripping Tommy’s shoulder harder to bring him back. Get him looking into his eyes again.</p><p>“I’m right.” Steve says with a chuckle that’s <i>sinister</i> but it’s best not to imagine it.</p><p>“What?” Tommy’s mad but it’s best not to imagine that either.</p><p>“I’m fucking <i>right</i>. You love me. I mean… I thought as much but… <i>wow</i>.”</p><p>Don’t imagine Tommy shaking again. Shaking from all of the pressure building up inside of him. Shaking like he’s a goddamn overblowing kettle.</p><p>“You’re not gonna say anything.” Steve says, and best not to imagine it coming out like the dickish season 1 Steve Harrington he’s acting like right now. “You won’t say anything. I don’t even have to threaten you. You love me too much to say anything.”</p><p>Don’t think about Tommy shaking. About him spitting out “<i>Fuck you.</i>”</p><p>Don’t. Be careful now, don’t think about Steve rolling his eyes, taking his hand off of Tommy’s shoulder to place it on his own hip and say in that cocky voice: “Yeah yeah, you wish.”</p><p>Don’t think about Tommy seeing red. Stumbling away from the wall, glaring, hissing: “You’re an <i>asshole</i>, Steve Harrington.”</p><p>Don’t imagine Steve licking his teeth and calling out in his cocky-confident voice, heat in his eyes that isn’t nearly as lustful as it is <i>spiteful</i> as he says: “Yeah, well, you are what you eat, huh?”</p><p>Don’t think about those words hitting Tommy <i>hard</i>. Please… <i>please</i> be kind to yourself. Don’t think about Tommy stumbling to the gym to shower off everything. To shower off how gross he feels. Or about Tommy in his room, thinking about those words for days… for <i>weeks</i>. Or about the shame he feels as he jacks off and pictures Billy on his knees for Steve, or Steve with his tongue in Billy’s ass like he insinuated… don’t think about him doing that for <i>weeks</i>, not being able to get off without his mind going there. Don’t think about the few nights that just the actions of getting off to that makes him cry… cry himself to sleep.</p><p>Don’t. Don’t imagine Tommy in a whirlwind of fear and anger and sadness, ignoring everything, ignoring Carol, ignoring responsibilities, ignoring class. Don’t think about him desperately grasping for any kind of relief from himself and his thoughts in the form of bottles or cigarettes or weed or threesomes with Carol and random girls in their grade. Don’t think about him trying to drown himself in porn focused on women, trying desperately to get the idea of men out of his mind. Don’t think about him <i>flailing</i> drastically and dramatically don’t think about the <i>fear</i> he lives in don’t think about the <i>grief</i> just… just <i>don’t</i>.</p><p>And please. Please don’t think about when he sees Steve again. With Billy again. Because Tommy needed to take a walk again. Get a break again. And it's not like being alone is really a <i>break</i> because being alone comes with thoughts that send him spinning but it's better than listening to Mr. Fink babble on about Biology so...</p><p>He's walking but then he's stopping because... they're <i>kissing</i>. Again. Up against the back of the gym, so into each other it makes Tommy <i>nauseous</i>.</p><p>Don’t think about Tommy filling with <i>fire</i>. Because seeing them is like gasoline and it tastes about as poisonous. Don’t think about how Steve gives him a look that looks like <i>pity</i> because Tommy makes his presence known by spitting loudly in their direction. Because Tommy walked over in a blind fit of rage and <i>shame</i>. Don’t think about how it feels shameful to Tommy when that look of pity is aimed his way. Don’t think about how Tommy is the one that internalizes that shame for himself. Don’t think about Steve calling after him, reaching out, asking “Tommy? You okay? Come… c’mon, bud, <i>talk</i> to me-”</p><p>And maybe you should stop now, or else you’re gonna think about Tommy <i>snapping</i>. Full on snapping. Whipping around to shove Steve’s hand down and scream: “<i>Shut up!</i>”</p><p>Because once you think about that you’re gonna think about the worry in Steve’s eyes that makes Tommy want to <i>scream</i>. Makes him fully aware of the comfort he used to find in that expression that now makes him want to <i>scream bloody fucking murder</i> and… and rip his <i>hair</i> out, make him want to <i>punch</i> someone because: “<i>I’m not your friend!</i> How does that feel, huh, Harrington? How does that <i>fucking</i> feel? And get this straight, I said <i>I’m</i> not <i>your</i> friend, <i>not</i> the other way around. <i>I’m</i> the one taking away my friendship this time, huh? Huh, <i>King Steve</i>? How does it <i>fucking</i> feel? You don’t get to be my friend anymore! So stop fucking faking it, you goddamn piece of shit! I’m <i>sick</i> of it and I… I <i>hate</i> you! I hate you so much I swear I could… I could… I could <i>kill</i> you I hate you so much!”</p><p>And <i>don’t don’t don’t</i>, don’t think about Tommy’s heart racing, don’t think about his breath getting short, don’t think about his freckled face red with anger and shame as he turns around and don’t think about his heart skipping a beat or two when his wrist is grabbed.</p><p>Don’t think about Steve mumbling: “Tommy…”</p><p>Don’t think about Tommy pulling his hand away with a “Get the fuck away from me.”</p><p>Don’t think about Steve reaching out again, grabbing again.</p><p>Don’t think about Tommy ripping his wrist away harder, with a “Get <i>away</i>.”</p><p>Don’t think about Steve reaching out to hold onto Tommy’s shoulder now with a mumbled: “Bud, c’mon-”</p><p>Don’t think about Tommy throwing Steve’s hand down before rounding on him with a sound punch that makes Steve take a step back. Stills the cresting air and makes it stale between them.</p><p>And please… <i>don’t</i>. Because if you think about that you’re going to think about Billy, who’s been standing back quietly, jumping into action and stepping up heavily and moving like a storm of thunder and lightning and anger  and pushing Steve back out of the way as he's glaring daggers and bullets and pulling his arm back quickly and pushing it back forward even quicker, cutting through the air and landing squarely on Tommy’s jaw with a sound like a <i>crack</i>.</p><p>You’re gonna think about Tommy staggering. You’re gonna think about the air going still. You’re gonna think about Tommy’s ears ringing. You’re gonna think about the way it stings. You’re gonna think about Tommy looking up from his hand that’s now covered in the blood from his mouth to see Steve place a ginger hand on Billy’s shoulder to try to pull him back. You’re gonna think about Steve mumbling: “Billy, wait-”</p><p>If you think about all that, you’re gonna think about Billy’s eyes, fiercely protective and fiercely loyal, glaring heavily into Tommy’s own as he growls: “You touch Steve again, and you <i>die</i>. Got that <i>Hagan</i>?”</p><p>If you think about all that, you’re gonna think about the pain in Tommy’s chest. You’re gonna think about how his heart runs cold. You’re gonna think about how his world goes gray. You’re gonna think about his head throbbing before he closes himself off to the world. You’re gonna think about that last look he gives to Steve… that last time he sees Steve… which is a look of pity and sorrow on his face, pooling in his eyes, looking at his childhood friend that Tommy wonders if he even recognizes anymore now that he’s bloody and spiteful and <i>shamed</i>.</p><p>If you think about all that you’re gonna think about Tommy walking away that day with something gray and shattered in his chest.</p><p>Don’t think too hard, because if you do you’re gonna find yourself thinking about the checklist going through Tommy’s mind, that says that Steve was the first and last happy thing for him in Hawkins and now his best friend for life is gone and has taken his new friend with him and… and he still <i>loves</i> Steve but he <i>lost</i> Steve and <i>hates</i> Steve and every inch of Hawkins is stained with memories of Steve and the only way to escape Steve is to… is to escape Hawkins.</p><p>So don’t think about it too hard, because if you do, you’re gonna think about Tommy packing his things and getting in his car and getting away. And he takes a pit stop by Carol’s house and maybe it’s a sudden lapse of judgement because even Carol is stained with the color of Steve but it’s fine because when Tommy pulls up to her house, saying “either you get in this car right now or you never see me again” she calls him crazy and insists he’ll be at school tomorrow because “This is <i>insane</i> Tommy and… and you’re <i>not insane</i>.”</p><p>And it’s probably gonna hurt you like it hurts Tommy, so don’t think about Tommy driving away, into the night, leaving behind a screaming Carol and, somewhere else, an uncharacteristically quiet Steve… driving until he can’t think of anything to do with Hawkins- not his deadbeat dad or Billy or Carol or even Steve. Until he’s in a Motel 6 with no family and no friends and no high school degree and just the faintest, smallest, weakest thought of <i>Steve</i>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so i made myself cry as i wrote this bc i'm <i>~dramatic~</i> but honestly, what's new?? maybe one of these days i'll make Tommy happy but, unfortunately, today is Not That Day.</p><p>i'm on tumblr<a href="https://okaybutlikeimagine.tumblr.com/">@okaybutlikeimagine</a><br/>my main blog is <a href="https://pointeful.tumblr.com/">@pointeful</a></p><p>that's about it, thanks so much for reading, i hope you're safe and well and i adore your soul ♥</p></blockquote></div></div>
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